Cruel World
by Bree Colbern
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Really. At least that's what S.H.I.E.L.D had claimed.


**I'm honestly not sure where this one came from, but I hope you like it. Oh, and listen to your saddest song while reading this. Yeah, it's not that happy of a story. :/ Sorry! But please enjoy! ;)**

 **Disclaimer: I own not a thing.**

* * *

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Really. At least that's what S.H.I.E.L.D had claimed.

* * *

On the first day, Clint woke up in the hospital, surrounded by every Avenger, except one; Steve. He didn't notice at first thanks to Stark.

"At last, Sleeping Beauty awakes." Tony says with a signature smirk and Clint winces as he struggles to sit up, only to be gently shoved back down by Bruce.

"Shut it, Stark," He croaks, voice rough from no use. He frowns, not remembering how and why he was in a hospital. "What happened?" He questioned, and it was Natasha who spoke up.

"Mission gone rogue. You were captured." He nods, slight recollection entering his heavily fogged mind. Only now does he realizes Steve's missing.

"Hey, where's Steve?" He asks, and he just barely fails to notice the slight falter in all their smiles.

"He's on a mission." Bruce said quickly. Almost a little suspiciously to Clint. He just nods and goes along with it. The tension in the room seems a little thick, so he aims to lighten it up by cracking a joke.

"So," He began, everyone's attention back on him. "Where's the victory party?"

* * *

On the second day, they all visit him individually. Tony was with him at the moment, talking about some new invention that Clint is just barely paying any attention to.

"Where's Steve?" He blurts out, and notices Tony's eyes darken slightly.

"He's on a mission. Now, back to my invention," Tony continues babbling on, but Clint notices something different; Tony's voice is a little lower and darker than before, and his foot is tapping. But Clint ignores it for now, and tries to pay attention to Stark. No matter how exhausting it was.

* * *

It's on the third day he finds out the truth. Natasha is visiting him, and they're just casually having a conversation about his farm, when he decides to change the subject and get some answers. If only he had known what he was getting into.

"So, where is Steve? I'm beginning he doesn't even care about me anymore." He jokes, and watches as Natasha's eyes darken before she looks down at the floor. But it's the tone of her voice that makes his heart twist.

"Clint," She rasps out, looking back up at him with teary eyes. "Steve's gone," She whispers, and Clint's heart plummets. A tear slips down her cheek as Clint frowns.

"What?" He asks, voice nearly inaudible. "How...what...I...how...how did this happen!?" He stutters in shock and Natasha's breath hitches in her throat before she speaks solemnly.

"You were captured by Hydra," She begins, taking a deep breath to compose herself.

"Steve was the first to find you, unconscious and bleeding on one of the floors of a Hydra facility. He tried to get you out on his own, knowing that if he didn't, you were as good as dead." She blinks slowly, tears moistening her eyelashes as her eyelids opened; revealing somber eyes. Clint's whole body shook as a single word repeated over and over in his head.

 _No, no, no, no, no._

"He got into a firefight with Hydra on his way out; took three bullets to the chest. He ended up getting you out, all right, but as soon you were in the hospital and in the room, he collapsed. Would've been onto his face if Tony hadn't have caught him." She swallowed hard. "It was then when we realized something was wrong. Horribly wrong. But it was too late," A choked sob escaped her lips.

"We were too late. We couldn't do anything." She took in a shaky breath. "He bled out in Tony's arms. His final words were; 'it's not his fault.'." She said, voice quiet and laced with pain. Clint shook his head.

"No, no, no! This couldn't have happened! How could I have let this happen!?" He demanded, feeling a sickening feeling akin to dread and sorrow and guilt fill his stomach. Natasha just sat back, and reached out a comforting hand that landed on his own.

He jerked his gaze up to meet her solemn gaze. Clint was all too aware of Steve's and Natasha's relationship. They were going to get married in one month from today.

"It's not your fault." She whispered and he shook his head as he sunk down into the pillow. He had to ask the question. The damn question that had an answer that will forever haunt him. He closed his watery eyes, and realized just how cruel of a world they lived in.

* * *

On the fourth day, he's released from the hospital.

He goes to his room and reads some S.H.I.E.L.D mission details he had managed to take on his way out, about Steve's death. He does nothing else but mourn and grieve for the kid who never got his chance in the world.

* * *

On the fifth day, Steve's funeral is held.

It's small, yet tragically sad. The sky is dark and cloudy, rain drizzling down making it an even more awful and miserable day. Steve's body is lowered into the ground, and as much as Clint wants to, he can't pry his eyes off of the grave where his best friend lay.

They go home, and Clint does his best to ignore the stifled sobs coming from Natasha's room and the muffled shouts and crashing coming from the lab. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't get past that pang of guilt festering on the inside. No matter what Steve had claimed, it was Clint's fault.

* * *

On the sixth day, Clint goes through Steve's sketchbook that hadn't moved from it's spot on the kitchen table since Steve's death; almost as if it was just waiting for his return. But Steve wasn't coming back. Clint came across a rough, quick sketch of a memory Steve had of them all going to Coney Island.

It captured the moment perfectly. For a moment, just a moment, Clint finds a smile playing with his lips. Then he turns the page. He finds Steve's plan on building him and Natasha a home after the wedding. Clint finally breaks down. And holds nothing back.

* * *

On the seventh day, he visits Steve. He won't call it a grave. He just won't.

He refuses to admit such a thing.

Steve's still with them. But Clint still feels awful. He's angry, guilt-ridden, sad, in shock and denial, and just downright feeling horrible about the whole situation. He kneels next to the grave, and lays his flowers down.

He smiles sadly, and pats the gravestone. "You were a good man, Steve. Better than I could ever hope to be. And we all miss you." He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly and shakily.

"God, this is so awful. I'm so sick of people sacrificing themselves for me. I just don't want to do this anymore. I know you claim that this wasn't my fault, and I know you'd say that it was your decision, but I know that it's a lie. You should have lived your life, you should have married Natasha and had a hell lot of kids." He sniffs and closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

"I just feel so damn miserable knowing that it's my fault you're...here. You're dead, Steve." He chokes out, tears dripping off the end of his eyelashes.

"You're dead and it's my fault. I'm sorry, Steve. God, I'm so sorry." He chokes out with a sob. He swears he can feel Steve's comforting hand on his shoulder, and can picture his soft, easy going smile so easily.

After a few minutes, he straightens and salutes the gravestone, before sniffing and walking away and out the small, secluded cemetery.

He glances out at the sunset, knowing how this was Steve's favorite time of day, and only feeling his heart twist harder. He swears that he can still feel Steve's presence by his side, and is tempted to believe for a moment, only a moment, that Steve is still alive.

But he knows that if he does that, he'll never come back out of it. It's hard enough the way it is, waking up in the morning and walking down the stairs, expecting Steve to greet him with a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a soft smile, before they go and talk about small things.

Steve's past, Clint's past, good memories, bad memories, and new memories. But now Clint finds it a hard, stone-cold reality to wake up and suddenly remember that Steve's gone. He's dead and never coming back. It always feels like a bucket of ice water dumping on him.

He still hasn't adjusted to it yet. Like the day before when he came down and asked where Steve was. Only to be met with an eerily sad silence. He sighs and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

 _'It's not his fault.'_ Steve's words echoed through his head as he once again felt that hand on his shoulder. A feeling washed over him, and he knew that Steve was right there beside him.

His spirit was there to be with him and comfort him, and to convince him that it wasn't actually his fault. For the first time in a long time, Clint started feeling better. Did he believe that it wasn't his fault?

No.

He would never _not_ believe it was his fault. But maybe, with Steve's comforting presence beside him, he would be able to not feel so horrible. He allowed a tiny smile to pull his lips up and looked out at the sunset, thinking, no, _knowing_ that Steve was looking at the same one. And for a moment he let himself think.

Maybe it wasn't such a cruel world after all.

* * *

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